“Can you do that?” she gasped. “Is that legal?”

“One can do quite a bit if one knows the right people.”

“But I will need to prepare. To pack.”To find something to wear, she added silently. She had nothing suitable for marrying an earl.

“Very well,” he said briskly, “the day after tomorrow.”

“Too soon.” Ellie planted her hands on her hips in an attempt to look firm.

He crossed his arms. “Three days hence, and that is my final offer.”

“I believe we have a bargain, my lord,” Ellie said with a smile. She had spent the last five years clandestinely wheeling and dealing on the 'change. Words like final offer were comfortable and familiar. Much more so than marriage.

“Very well, but if I must wait three days I shall demand something in return.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It isn't very gentlemanly to agree to a bargain and then attach further terms.”

“I believe that is exactly what you did as pertains to the consummation of our marriage.”

Her face colored. “Very well. What precisely is this boon you demand?”

“It is most benign, I assure you. Merely an afternoon in your company. After all, we are courting, aren't we?”

“I suppose one could call it—”

“Tomorrow,” he interrupted. “I shall pick you up promptly at one o'clock.”

Ellie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

A few minutes later a carriage was brought around, and Charles watched as a footman helped her up. He leaned on his cane, absently flexing his ankle. The bloody injury had better heal quickly; it looked as if he might have to chase his wife around the house.

He stood on the front steps for several minutes after the carriage disappeared from view, watching as the sun hung on the horizon and painted the sky.

Her hair, he suddenly thought. Eleanor's hair was the exact color of the sun at his favorite time of day.

His heart filled with unexpected joy, and he smiled.

Chapter 4

By the time Ellie arrived home that evening, she was a bundle of nerves. It was one thing to agree to this crazy scheme of marriage to Billington. It was quite another to calmly face her stern and domineering father and inform him of her plans.

As her luck would have it, Mrs. Foxglove had returned, presumably to tell the reverend what an evil, ungrateful daughter he had. Ellie waited patiently throughout Mrs. F.'s tirade until she boomed, “Your daughter”—here she stabbed a stubby finger in Ellie's direction—“will have to mend her ways. I don't know how I will be able to live in peace with her in my house, but—”

“You won't have to,” Ellie interrupted.

Mrs. Foxglove's head swung around, her eyes blinking furiously. “I beg your pardon.”

“You won't have to live with me,” Ellie repeated. “I'm leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“And where do you think you're going?” Mr. Lyndon demanded.

“I'm getting married.”

That was certainly a conversation stopper.

Ellie filled the silence with: “In three days. I am getting married in three days.”